


Satin and Snow

by YoListenUpHeresTheStory



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Satin Flowers, Come Eating, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Smut, Top Jon Snow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2020-10-27 10:15:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20758721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YoListenUpHeresTheStory/pseuds/YoListenUpHeresTheStory
Summary: The steward's job used to be to organize the Lord Commander's meals and clothes so that he could focus on the running of the Watch. At some point around the time Satin became Jon's personal steward, the job description changed slightly. Really, neither of them has any cause for complaint.





	1. Roughly

Satin doesn't know how the office of Lord Commander's Steward became Lord Commander's Housewife, but he doesn't mind it too much. While Jon is off dealing with the kings and wildlings and black brothers outside, he stays, by and large, in the chambers that they now share, cleaning, cooking, and doing other housework. He has a room of his own in the tower, of course, but he can't remember the last time he slept there.

Sometimes, when he's in the middle of his work, whether that involves sheets of linen or sheets of paper filled with figures, Jon will burst in through the door, leaving it swinging helplessly on the hinges as he heads straight for Satin. Satin's so used to it now, so sure of what is coming next, that even by this point his cock is always a visible bulge, straining at his breeches as the thin laces struggle to contain it. Jon likes him to wear clothes a little too small for him anyway, so the already-tight breeches which show his ankles, which hug his calves and thighs and which grab his rear, suddenly become a prison which rubs against his most sensitive parts at every move.

Jon grabs him, one hand on his hip and the other curving around his chest possessively, its fingers grasping Satin by the chin to hold him in place.

“The door… someone will see...” Satin usually gasps. When he does, Jon always ignores him.

Instead, the Lord Commander will nip at the back of his steward's neck, or curl his tongue along its side until he reaches the recess behind Satin's earlobe, which he'll flick or bite gently. Satin shaves his cheeks as closely as he can each day to keep the skin smooth and hairless, just the way he knows Jon likes it. It would be a shame if Jon's tongue were to encounter any of the coarse hair that always curled out from those cheeks on the few times Satin had let it grow.

When Jon does put his mouth to Satin's neck and ears like this, it's all that Satin can do not to melt into his touch, but he wants to be good for his Lord Commander and his Lord Commander likes him to stay standing at attention.

Then the hand holding Satin's chin will trace a little of his face, savouring the contact but always returning to former whore's soft lips. His clients in Oldtown always loved his lips, for various different reasons. Some of them said that they were perfect for cock-sucking, and would lie back for the night while Satin used his mouth in all the ways he'd learned to please a man. Most of the women wanted his mouth at their groin too, wanted his tongue inside them as he knelt at their feet like the most obedient servant in the world.

Others would say that his lips were too soft, that they'd never known hard work, or they'd say that he had loose lips which needed plugging. The ones who said things like that would stand before him with their legs apart as he undid their breeches. Then they'd take his head in his hands and he would become an object as they stuffed his mouth full of their cock, rutting into his face as he gagged on the meat in his throat. Sometimes they would come in him or on him there in the middle of the room, and at other times they would move to rest his head against the bed for stability as they shuddered, hunched over his head, their seed pouring down his throat and their balls draped over his chin.

Still others would say that his lips were perfect for kissing, and would devour them while they fucked him, biting and sucking as if his mouth were the most delicious thing in the world. For some of those, he wondered what they would think if they realized the other things his mouth had done; for others, he wondered if those other things were precisely why they loved to kiss him so.

Jon, though, has another purpose for his lips. The thumb will stroke them briefly, caress them, until Satin's mouth drops open in a low, involuntary moan. Then a finger will enter the very front of his mouth, resting its tip just on the end of his tongue.

“Suck,” Jon will say, and Satin will do so gladly. Jon doesn't push the finger in any further, instead leaving it to Satin to draw it in with his tongue, which he swirls around the finger as if it were a cock, sucking on it like he was trying to draw milk from a teat. Jon does add another finger without prompting though, and then another.

“Oil's expensive, and there's no more coming for at least a month,” he whispers in the smaller man's ear. “That whore's tongue of yours is your best bet.” Then there's a fourth finger in Satin's mouth, thrusting gently at the back of his throat while he struggles to breathe around it, slobbering over Jon's hand as best he can.

Suddenly, Jon's other hand is at his cock, palming it through the fabric and trying to stroke it to its full size through the tight leather, though they both know that there simply isn't room for any more of it. It's also pulling Satin closer to Jon, so that the steward can feel the Lord Commander's own hardness, even through the layers of clothes and – in Jon's case – underclothes they're wearing. Their bodies are connected at every point, each bent into the same shape as the other. Then the hand is searching for the laces that hold the trousers up.

Except, today, Satin is wearing his breeches backwards. After all, only the clothes of the lords and ladies of the land are made with any finesse or care. Breeches such as Satin's are much the same shape at the front as the back – in fact, the only real difference between them, as with most other breeches at the Wall, consists of the laces which tie them up at the top.

Jon's hand withdraws slowly from Satin's mouth and rests his soaked fingers on the southerner's cheek. He slides a thumb inside the cheek, though, reminding Satin that his work is not yet finished.

“Explain.” The order is given in the harsh northern accent that Satin has grown to love so much, the tone of voice one that brooks no disobedience or dissent.

“I thought you'd like… better access to the rear entrance,” he gasps in response, taking in as much air as possible before his mouth is filled again.

“Slutty boy,” growls Jon. His thumb pulls Satin's lip down, twisting it cruelly so that his fingers can return easily to the other's mouth, and Satin wraps his lips around them eagerly.

Jon's hand, meanwhile, returns to give Satin's crotch a further massage, and the whore's eyes widen slightly as he feels the foreskin tugged down beneath the head. Then Jon's hand is at his rear, deftly undoing the knots that stand between him and Satin's ass, while his other hand continues to probe the smaller boy's mouth.

“The bed,” says Jon, and they stagger over to it. Instead of lying Satin down, though, Jon holds him standing up straight there, and instead of untying Satin's breeches fully, he leaves the last knot standing, so that he has access to Satin's hole, albeit through two cheeks pressed tightly together. Satin's own cock is still imprisoned within the fabric, pushing and pulsing desperately in search of an escape that simply will not come.

The hand is finally withdrawn from Satin's mouth for good, instead moving to the cleft of Satin's butt. It's as hairless as the rest of him, just the way Jon likes it, waxed regularly and painfully for the Lord Commander's pleasure.

The haze of lust must be distorting Satin's perception of time: Jon's own breeches are on the floor around his ankles he can't begin to pinpoint the moment when they were removed. The hand, fingers moist, is working up and down Jon's shaft, by now as hard as Valyrian Steel. He can just see the true pink of its head peeping out from underneath the foreskin, which rolls up and down as Jon lubes himself using Satin's own saliva.

Jon's other hand holds his lover in place by the balls, rolling and squeezing them cruelly between fingers and thumb, fully aware that there is very little slack room in Satin's trousers.

Jon bites him by the earlobe again, and Satin gasps, at which point the nine-hundredth and ninety-eighth Lord Commander of the Night's Watch sheaths himself up to the hilt in his personal steward.

Satin can't help but be conscious that the breeches are holding him to be significantly tighter than he usually is. For a moment, he wonders if this was really such a good idea, but Jon has no such reservations as he pushes forwards so that the two of them are bent over the bed, and begins to thrust. Satin stretches his arms out to brace himself and stabilize them both, but Jon's hands remain wrapped around the whore's body, refusing to let even the cold northern air come between them.

Jon's thrusts are short, so he never fully withdraws from Satin. Instead, his movements are sharp and violent, pressing his hands against the smaller boy's throat and pushing his cock towards Satin's sweet spot.

Satin's own cock is becoming sore against the constricting breeches, but burns more from a lack of friction than from too much. Jon is ignoring it – deliberately, he's sure. Perhaps he'll make Satin beg for relief later, or perhaps he'll simply tie him up and forget about it, using the whore and then leaving him unsatisfied. Satin knows he probably lets out some kind of cry, but the feeling of Jon's body on him and in him deafens him.

Jon continues thrusting, panting in his ear, his thick cock pushing past the barrier formed by Satin's ass cheeks and through the ring beneath them to go deeper and deeper inside his steward. His hands are still moving, palming Satin's cock again, then pinching the nipples through his shirt, drawing out more gasps and pants from the other boy.

Satin's arms shake and his back arches as the sensation becomes too much, and the two of them collapse onto the bed just as Jon reaches his peak. If it's possible, he pushes even further into Satin at that point, burying himself into the steward's flesh, his dick twitching inside the boy. Satin feels Jon's seed gather within him, and waits for Jon to pull out. It doesn't seem as if he's going to be able to come at his lord's hands today.

But Jon doesn't move. “Take care of yourself,” is his next order.

Satin reaches for his breeches, but Jon grasps his wrists and pins them to the bed.

“No hands,” he growls.

Satin understands perfectly. Jon's shaft still shoved inside him, and his own cock still trapped and twitching in the little way it can inside his clothes, he begins to push himself against the mattress they're lying on.

If anything, it has too much give in it, and Satin can't work up any satisfying rhythm anyway. He rocks back and forth, and finds that his body responds to the movement, but won't do anything more for him. He maneuvers himself to the edge of the bed, and begins to rut against that instead, finding that it gives him a much more satisfying contact.

As he ruts, he feels his release begin to build in the pit of his belly, and thrusts harder and faster, desperate for what the Lord Commander did not see fit to do himself, until, finally, with a shudder, he comes.

Afterward, he goes limp, feeling his pleasure seeping out of him. It must have been a lot, he realizes as he feels it run down the inside of his clothes and sees more of the pearly fluid seep out of his breeches and onto the patch of bare skin between his trousers and shirt. A drop of it escapes onto the bedsheets.

The Lord Commander kisses him gently on the back of the neck. “Good boy,” he praises. “Such a good slut.” Satin keens a little at the words, then lets out a wordless moan as Jon gives his groin a squeeze, rubbing his sensitive dick into the fluid it's only just let out.

Then, as if he himself hadn't just come, Jon begins to move inside Satin again.


	2. Gently

At other times, Satin will turn, perhaps from his washing, to see that Jon has entered the room and shut the door quietly behind him without the steward even noticing. Satin can only assume that he enjoys watching his lover drag dirty smallclothes through soapy water. Jon always has a badly hidden smile on his face when he's eventually noticed, and it's so irrepressibly sappy it makes Satin want to groan.

It's normally when he's noticed that Jon comes to sit behind him to help, or else behind him to guide the other boy's hands.

“I'm not sure what it is you're trying to do,” said Satin one time, with Jon's knees on either side of his and his chin resting on Satin's neck, “but in all my years in Oldtown, I'd never have had time to get fucked if there was someone trying to grope me whenever I was washing clothes.”

“Bold of you to question the Lord Commander,” was Jon's response. It was given with a smile, but the bastard of Winterfell kept his own hands, calloused and rough from his time on the wall and a lifetime of swordsmanship before that, on Satin's soft whore's hands, more used to perfumes and oils than hard labor.

“Relax,” Jon tells him, and while Satin keeps hold of the clothes, he lets his arms drop as Jon moves them about, working him like a puppet. There is something soothing about giving up control like this. He feels Jon's cheek rest against his and leans into the contact.

When the washing is finished, Jon lifts Satin's hands up, wrinkled and pruned from the water, and presses them to the laces at the top of the smaller man's shirt. The message is clear, and Satin is entirely willing to fumble at the knots until they're undone.

Jon lifts him to his feet before pulling the shirt completely over Satin's head to free his chest.

Satin himself, with very little space to maneuver between Jon and the tub, turns on the spot to face the other man and breathes in the smell of frost that seems to follow the northerner everywhere. Jon, having just come from outside, is wearing far more clothes than the single layer Satin was dressed in, and so first to come off is the heavy black cloak, which Jon throws aside as soon as Satin has unfastened the clip which holds it on at the neck.

The second item is the jerkin Jon is wearing. It's not a heavy garment, and it's not long before Satin is pulling it down Jon's arms. He makes to fold it, but the other man takes it from him and flings it in the general direction of their bed before he can.

Next is the thick, furred doublet, done up with about twice as many buttons as must be necessary. Satin starts at the top, getting a little closer to Jon's skin every time one pops open. Jon, meanwhile, standing a few inches taller than Satin, presses a kiss to the other man's forehead, while his hands tweak the southerner's nipples. Those same hands then draw a line down Satin's chest feeling the shape of his ribs beneath the skin and then the muscles on his stomach, before lodging themselves in the top of his breeches, cupping his cheeks. Then Jon pulls the other man close to him, pressing the two of them together at the crotch and leaving Satin almost no room to fiddle with the buttons.

He can feel himself – and Jon – growing harder by the second, beginning to push against his underclothes, but he focuses on the task he has been given and opens up the next button. It is the steward's job to attend to the Lord Commander's needs, after all, not to complain that the work is too difficult.

The final button comes undone, and Jon shrugs the jacket off, leaving only the undershirt, and Satin's hands are scrabbling at the laces as soon as the doublet is past them. Jon, apparently intent on being difficult today, pulls Satin's head close to his own and holds him there, humming contentedly.

Satin isn't keen on waiting around, though. He twists his head around to place kisses along Jon's jawline, rejoicing in the feeling of the stubble on his lips. His hands, meanwhile, finally manage to untie the last knot, and their bodies part for a moment as Satin lifts the shirt over Jon's head.

Torsos freed, the two of them take a moment to admire each other. Satin's kisses move gradually from Jon's jaw to his neck down onto his chest. Jon doesn't keep himself as well-groomed as his lover does, so there's some hair sprouting across it – but not nearly enough to obscure the good bits: Satin's mouth, sinful as it is, finds its way to one of Jon's nipples, which it latches onto and begins to suck at greedily. Satin's eyes, wide and innocent beneath thick black lashes, flick up to meet Jon's gaze. Satin blinks like a naive ingénue, and begins to kiss at the nodule on Jon's chest in between sucks, never once breaking the eye contact with his commander.

Jon, for his part, groans at the sensation and cups Satin's face in his hands, carefully holding it to his chest as he steps carefully backwards, guiding them to the bed.

Satin's hands are also busy, and as evidence of their work, Jon's trousers come undone halfway across the room, swiftly followed in their descent to the floor by his underclothes.

Jon runs his hands through Satin's soft, curly hair as the other boy's mouth latches onto his other nipple and he nuzzles into the fur that grows on Jon's chest, inhaling deeply to enjoy the musk of sweat and toil that accompanies Jon's natural icy scent and the coarse texture of the hair. Satin inhales sharply as Jon's fingers dig tightly into his scalp and hold his head like they intend to crush it. He does not complain, though, instead following as the Lord Commander guides him up his chest – stopping regularly to taste the skin, which is beginning to show tiny bruises across the whole torso.

Satin, though, has no intention of stopping, even as they land clumsily on the bed and Jon pulls his still-clothed lover on top of his naked body.

Satin finally reaches Jon's mouth, and their lips meet eagerly, each pressing hard against the other. Jon's hands pull Satin's head towards his own so that the former whore can't break the kiss for air, and then slips his tongue into the kiss, tasting the other's mouth as greedily as Satin tries to explore his.

Suddenly, Jon breaks the kiss, pulling Satin away from himself as the other boy whimpers pathetically at the loss of contact. “Is that make-up?” he demands.

Satin, too preoccupied by the fire in his loins and the bruises on Jon's lips to form a coherent sentence, just nods mutely. Jon's taste is rich on his tongue and his mouth hangs dumbly open without his boyfriend's own mouth to cover it. Clients in Oldtown had sometimes made him prettify himself for their amusement, but the eye-liner he's put on today is the first time he's tried it for Jon.

“Gods,” groans Jon, and rolls them over so that he's now on top of Satin, grinding himself against the helpless smaller boy's leg. “You're still wearing too many clothes,” he informs Satin, before lunging for his mouth again and consuming it in another half-kiss, half-bite, hands still holding his head in place.

Satin, struggling to multitask, works mindlessly at the knots on his breeches while focusing mainly on Jon's lips, his mouth gradually opening ever-wider to accommodate the increasingly aggressive tongue that is thrusting into his mouth like it's trying to do the job of a cock. Eventually, though, he frees himself, and his dick spasms from the pleasure of the contact he suddenly has with Jon's bare skin. He doesn't rut against it to orgasm like his instinct screams he should, though, knowing it would be rude to come before Jon and without his permission.

Instead, he lies back and tries to enjoy the kisses, the soft wet sounds that come from every meeting of their mouths and the places Jon has already kissed which turn to goosebumps every time a draft passes over them. He enjoys the feeling of being tasted like one of the exotic fruits he would feed in segments to clients at the brothel, peeling them carefully and offering them up to salivating lips.

Fortunately, Jon does not seem in much of a mood for hanging around today, and he pauses to twist open a jar of oil on the bedside table.

He smiles down at Satin, though the caring expression is somewhat undermined by the obvious lust in his eyes. “Get to work,” he orders.

Satin dips his hand into the jar, then wraps it around Jon's cock. He pushes and pulls rhythmically, enjoying the uneven breaths coming out of his lover's mouth as he does so. The shaft quickly becomes slick from the fluid, and Satin's hand starts to run up and down it with little friction. He pauses to roll a ball between his fingers, thinking about taking it in his mouth, but opts not to in favour of teasing the cock. He pulls down the foreskin to free the head, rubbing his thumb over the slit, and then leaning down to plant a kiss on it.

The kiss is a deliberately moist one, leaving a wet spot on the angry purple member and a string of saliva that connects it to Satin's mouth once he breaks away.

Then he gasps as Jon slides a couple of fingers into his cleft, also dipped in oil. At first they are playful, flicking and twitching inside Satin with the pure aim of making him squirm – which he does, tensing and contorting uncontrollably as Jon plays him like a puppet.

“Jon…” he gasps, “that's not – ah! – not fair!”

“What's not fair, baby?” asks Jon, his voice dripping with insincere concern. Before Satin can answer, he jabs his fingers deeper into the steward, extracting an even louder groan and a more pronounced spasm that sees Satin lurch straight into Jon's shoulder.

Jon's free hand cups Satin's chin and, again before he has a chance to speak, captures him in a long, searing kiss into which the whore continues to make pathetic whimpering noises while Jon's fingers wriggle inside him.

“Please,” comes the begging request the moment that their lips part. “I want you!”

Jon purses his lips in mock thought, then slips another finger inside Satin's ass. “I suppose I wouldn't mind fucking you too much,” he admits, and he starts to smear the oil more evenly around his stewards insides, making sure to make the entrance as slick and smooth as possible, as Satin pants damp breaths onto his bare chest.

“On your belly,” he eventually orders, and Satin is instantly face down on the bed. In another moment, Jon's knees are either side of Satin's, and then he's sliding himself inside the smaller man. He rests in Satin's entrance for a moment as the hole twitches around his dick and adjusts to the intrusion, then lets a little more of his body weight drop down onto the steward, pushing himself most of the way inside at the same time.

“Good?” he asks.

“So good,” says Satin. “Harder now.”

He thinks Jon might say something about being given orders by his servant, but instead the Lord Commander starts moving inside him. The thrusts are disappointingly leisurely in some ways, but Satin knows he'll be grateful for it when he's able to walk in a straight line tomorrow. Besides, Jon has a strange ability to reach Satin's deepest parts at any given moment, and what his actions lack in violence or urgency, they make up for in precision. Satin knows that Jon enjoys the noises he makes during sex, but it's not as if he has to fake them. In fact, it's much easier to let Jon hear them than it is to stop his sounds from reaching the rest of Castle Black's ears.

He becomes conscious that one of Jon's hands is pushing at his waist, trying to get at the cock trapped beneath Satin's body. He lifts himself up on his elbows, and the hand snakes round to grip his manhood. It grips him by the base, forming a tight ring between thumb and forefinger, which it slides carefully up and down his length.

“Good?” asks Jon.

Satin's response is to turn and try to capture Jon in another kiss, but the northerner is a little too far behind him, and laughs as Satin's lips brush against his nose and fall away.

“I'll take that as a yes,” he says, and pushes extra deep into Satin on his next thrust. His hand continues working the steward's cock, and he puts his mouth to work on Satin's neck.

Their bodies move in harmony together, writhing on top of the bed, until Satin's arms start to shake from the strain of holding him up. “Jon...” he moans.

“Shh,” says Jon, lifting his hand from Satin's dick for a moment to stroke his lips. “Almost there,” he says. Satin instinctively kisses Jon's fingertips, then leans forward to suck on the fingers, but Jon returns his hand to Satin's groin before the steward can take it into his mouth.

Satin gasps again as Jon begins to move more quickly, thrusting harder than before at Satin's behind and rubbing more vigorously at his front.

The sound of slapping fills the room as Jon's thighs connect heavily with Satin's buttocks and he pulls his hand repeatedly back into the other boy's stomach. His fingers, cunning as always, rub into Satin's balls each time they're at his base.

Finally, Jon buries his cock up to the hilt within his steward, pulling Satin's body close as he spills himself inside it. Satin's arms give way, and the two of them collapse heavily onto the bed's soft sheets. That's when Satin comes too, crying out as Jon massages his juices out of his dick. The pearly liquid spurts once, twice, a third time onto the sheets, where it blends against the pale colours almost instantly.

Jon nuzzles against Satin's neck as they roll sideways so that he's spooning the smaller man, whose manhood hangs, spasming, from his belly, dripping occasional globules of his milk from its slit.

A drop lands on Jon's hand, still working gently at Satin's flesh. He lifts it to his mouth and wipes it against his tongue before licking his lips as he relishes the flavor.

Then the Lord Commander grasps Satin's neck and pulls him close for a deep and satisfying kiss.


	3. On the Wall

Neither the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch nor his personal steward actually need to be on the rota to keep watch atop the Wall, but Jon likes his men to see that he's still one of them, and that he works every bit as hard as they do. He also likes Satin to keep him company while he does it.

So, sometimes, when it's just the two of them sheltering against the wind in one of the hundreds of tiny outposts dotted along Westeros' northern border, Jon, apparently deciding that there's no risk of Wildlings, Wights or Others attacking, will turn to Satin, remove a glove, and untie the top of his steward's breeches.

It's a fiddly operation, since no-one in their right mind goes up the wall without several layers of clothes and underclothes on every part of their body, but eventually Satin's cock is withdrawn from its hiding place.

The wind is vicious up here, and Satin flinches as it bites into his most private parts, but they manage to shuffle into a sheltered spot where Jon's hands quickly wrap around him to keep him warm: one hand, gloved, settles at Satin's base; the other, naked and as cold as ice, goes to his tip. Satin gasps at the sensation of being held, but that draws a warm smile from Jon which could cure any frostbite.

“Kiss me,” says the Lord Commander, pulling him closer by the groin, and Satin will happily follow. Their mouths connect briefly, before Satin is distracted by Jon's hands beginning to move.

The first order of business for Jon is to free Satin's balls, which recoil even more than they already have as soon as they come into contact with the world outside his breeches.

Then, it's to expose Satin's head, rolling the foreskin down his length until it will go no further, and Satin shivers and bites his tongue to stop himself from whimpering at the freezing temperature he's being exposed to.

There isn't much time before this game becomes painful, so Jon gets starts a workmanlike pumping motion on his lover's cock. It's a fast, heavy-handed action designed to make Satin come as quickly as possible. His gloved hand fondles the steward's balls while his other slides swiftly up and down his member.

Satin heats and hardens at the friction of Jon's hands. Entirely at the mercy of his own cock, he begins to jerk slightly at each movement, and has to grasp at the parapet for support. It isn't long before he feels his release building up within him.

“Jon… I'm gonna…”

Jon knows what he's trying to say. His only response is to let the gloved hand take over the ministrations, while he holds his naked one out in front of Satin's length, ready to receive what it has to give him.

In a few more jerks, more powerful than before, Satin comes. A few drops of it land on the wall, and some of his first spurt actually flies straight off the northern side, but Jon does an admirable job of catching most of it, which he cradles like something precious.

While his gloved hand packs Satin away again, this hand lifts up to the former whore's lips. Satin knows what is expected of him and leans forward to lap at the liquid like a kitten at milk. Jon gives him a smile from eyes darkened by lust as Satin licks himself off his Lord Commander's hand. His own seed is sweeter than most men's he's tasted, and it isn't long before he's kissing up the final few spots on Jon's hand and swallowing its remaining contents.

Jon wipes it on Satin's cloak, unwilling to dirty his own clothes. He ties up the laces on his steward's breeches, and then turns to his own.

Satin kneels before Jon and cups his hands at his crotch, catching the penis as it falls free of its constraints, wrapping his hands around as much of it as he can to keep it warm, and then caressing it to its full length. That only takes a few strokes, and then, as before, it's a matter of bringing Jon to his peak as quickly as he can.

Jon isn't fussed about impressing Satin, whom he already knows to be totally devoted to him, so he doesn't hold himself back in the same way. He strokes the steward's thick, curly hair gently as Satin works hard at his crotch, rubbing and tugging for all he's worth. Both of them would prefer it if it was Satin's mouth rather than his hands, but moisture freezes quickly on the wall, and it's not worth the risk of leaving anything more than the absolute necessary on Jon's cock.

“Soon,” Jon says after a while.

Satin knows he has another moment or so. It's when Jon's hands suddenly grip tightly in his hair that he opens his mouth wide, ready to receive his Lord Commander's favor. Jon's cum jets into the back of his throat as his hips buck, violently at first, then more gently. Satin moves closer to catch any stray drops, before swallowing the entire load. He gives Jon's manhood a few more strokes to encourage anything more out of it, and licks the tip clean.

Jon's seed isn't as sweet as Satin's own, but even so, he finds himself craving it when he has to spend days or nights alone. He's addicted to it, he knows, needs it to satisfy the desires he never knew to be so strong until he came to the wall. As far as he's concerned, Jon can't possibly produce too much of the fluid.

But there is no more immediately forthcoming, and so Sating carefully wraps up the Lord Commander's cock in the clothes from which he has only just freed it: it will make a fine present to himself later.

**Author's Note:**

> Current Status: Waiting Curiously To See How I Feel About This Fic In 10 Years' Time
> 
> all reviews and other feedback appreciated, in a big way, even(/especially) the critical stuff.
> 
> hope you all enjoy.


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